Sabbatical
by cosmogirl7481
Summary: There are worse things than being angry, right? A boy meets girl story with an open mind, a quiet heart and lots of flexibility. Or none of that at all. Written for Marvar's birthday because I love her more than Rob. Rated M because...well, you know.
1. Chapter 1

**This is for my ficwife, soulmate and partner!**

**She's turning 29 on Saturday, but her family is making her go camping tomorrow.**

**So we are celebrating today. :)**

**Happy Birthday Marvar! ILY**

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The moment they call me upstairs to the big office, I know that I'm in trouble. I don't _actually _know anything, but seriously – don't we _always_ know?

We've always known.

We knew it when we were kids whenever we were called into the principal's office. Although, I was only called to the principal's office twice. Once in elementary school for punching Tyler Crowley in the face when he took my heart-shaped cherry lollipop. The principal explained to me that while stealing was wrong, it did not warrant physical violence. I still think that's bullshit. The second time was in high school when I attacked Lauren Mallory in the girl's bathroom because she rubbed her teenage whore tits all up on my boyfriend by his locker when she thought I wasn't around.

I would have been suspended. But my dad – the town sheriff – worked out a deal with the school. So, instead of getting a week off, I had to spend two months helping out at the station every day after school.

But as I stand from my desk, I know.

I definitely, definitely know.

I smooth down my black pencil skirt before I take the long walk. I avoid eye contact as I pass my subordinates and colleagues.

I'm pretty sure they all know, too.

I take the elevator up one story, and I walk into the big office. I don't knock because the door is open.

They are waiting for me.

They stand there behind the conference table – two men. Both of them look like Mitt Romney.

"Have a seat, Ms. Swan," one of them says softly.

The other one walks around the table to close the door. And with a quiet click that I have to strain to hear, I know that I have fucked up. I know that there will be no getting out of this. I don't care how good I am at my job.

I wait for a million years for both of them to sit down in front of me. Are all men this slow and stupid? Also, one of them is breathing really loudly. It sounds like he's just run a fucking marathon. I fight the urge to scowl at him or offer him a Breathe-Right strip.

I take a deep breath.

It doesn't work, so I take three more. I try to do it loudly just to give asshole number two a taste of his own medicine.

"I don't believe in small talk," asshole number two states rather dryly. "We've noticed a change in you over the course of the last few months, Ms. Swan."

"People change all the time," I respond, equally dry. "Every day, every minute."

"Some changes are good," asshole number two says. "Some…are not."

Silence fills the space, and I wonder if this is it. I'd like to think that I am not losing my job. Especially considering that I really have contributed heavily to the company's success. And by heavily, I mean completely.

I choose not to speak.

"You seem very…_angry_." Asshole number one says the word like it's a blasphemous curse. "And while I don't know what has happened to cause your _anger_, it doesn't matter. It's affecting business. Your subordinates have taken notice. As well as your business partners."

"Being angry is not a crime," I say as calmly as possible.

If it were, I would definitely be in prison.

"Employees are afraid to talk to you," asshole number two says. "Much less do any productive work for you."

"What are you telling me?" I ask. "Am I fired?"

"No." Asshole number one looks sympathetic. "You have been an invaluable asset. We hope that given enough time and…consideration on your part, you will continue to be a part of our family."

"What does that mean?" Now I'm angry and panicked.

"We would like for you to take leave," asshole number two says softly. "A sabbatical, if you will. There's a lovely place in California. We've researched it. We think it would very…good for you. The company will, of course, pay all expenses."

"What kind of place?" I ask. My throat feels like it's closing.

"A soothing place," he continues. "A healing place."

"What if I don't want to go?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Swan," asshole number one says with finality. "Not going isn't an option if you would like to continue your career here with us."

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	2. Chapter 2

The walls in my suite are all beige and white and lavender. I guess they think that those colors are soothing. I spend forty-five minutes just staring at the walls.

Fuck.

I feel calmer.

Stupid walls.

.

.

After lunch in my room, I am "encouraged" to take a walk in the Serenity Garden. I have a feeling that _encouraged_ really means _required_. I don't even change. I'm still wearing the yoga pants I wore on the plane. Although, I suppose that yoga pants are appropriate attire for this place. According to the pamphlet that was left on my bed, they offer a class every ten seconds.

Yoga is stupid.

And I am not flexible.

.

.

The garden is lovely. I try to ignore the fact that I notice. It's filled with lush green plants and flowers in soothing and stimulating colors.

I get it.

Peace and happiness.

I roll my eyes and head over to the courtyard. I can't deal with peace and happiness right now. Nothing is peaceful, and I am definitely not happy.

I take a seat on a stone bench. It almost looks as if it had grown up from inside the ground. There is a small Zen pool in the middle of the courtyard. The water trickles down smooth stones, almost in harmony with the soft chatter of birds in the distance.

I take a deep breath.

I close my eyes.

I try to focus on anything other than the reason I'm here. Not the fact that my company sent me, but what happened that led to them making me.

It doesn't work.

One hour later, I'm still sitting in the same spot. The birds are still chirping and the water is still tink-tink-tinkling down the stones.

I am still angry.

I am still hurt.

The only purpose the Zen pool seems to serve – making me feel like I need to pee.

I am just about to stand up when I feel this energy all around me. Now this – _this – _is soothing and stimulating. Maybe the flowers have actual magic powers.

I am still for a moment. Even my bladder forgets that it's supposed to be clenching and spasming.

This energy feels real…tangible.

It covers my skin. It makes my hair stand on end. I wonder if there was some sort of drug added to the green tea I drank with lunch.

And then I hear a voice.

His voice.

"You are the loveliest thing in this garden."

I turn around, and I'm faced with the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. Tall and lean and a perfect face with so many angled lines it's almost like he was drawn by a Disney animator. Or Michelangelo.

Drugs.

The tea was definitely drugged.

"That's not true," I tell him. Mostly because he is actually the loveliest thing in this garden. But also because even through the peyote-induced haze, I realize that's the lamest thing anyone could ever say. "I am not lovely."

The afternoon sun shines on his copper hair making it look like a golden halo.

Fuck that.

He's definitely not an angel.

Angels have wings. And they don't wear jeans and Dartmouth t-shirts.

"What are you?" he asks.

"Angry." I tell him, standing up. "I'm really fucking angry."

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	3. Chapter 3

There's a terrace just off my suite. Two wooden chairs with deep seats and a small table sit on terracotta tiles. It leads to another small garden which, according to the fragrance, is filled with night-blooming jasmine.

I am freshly showered and changed into pajamas. To be honest, they don't feel all that different than my yoga pants. I settle into a chair and think about the day, my life…my decisions.

Am I really all that insufferable?

Has my inability to cope really led me to this place?

The people here seem normal. Just like me. All of them are quiet and contemplative while they do things like yoga, meditation or even painting and pottery. Apparently, doing something creative serves as an outlet for built-up tension and anxiety.

I am not creative.

Although, the idea of pounding the shit out of some molding clay sounds really appealing.

I close my eyes.

I breathe in deeply through my nose for three seconds.

Out for ten from my mouth.

I repeat the process…again and again and again.

And on the seventh breath, there's definitely a soothing feeling.

I sigh, thinking that maybe I can do this. Maybe with enough peace and quiet, I can actually begin to let go. Of course, somewhere in the back of my mind, I still feel like that's bullshit. However, the soothing energy is still surrounding me.

"Is that working?"

His voice – although quiet – startles me. I open my eyes to find him sitting in the chair next to me. I glare at him.

_He_ is not helping my serenity.

"_How did you…what did you…_" I sputter. "How did you even get here? And why are you bothering me?"

He laughs.

It's irritating that I like the sound.

"See that?" He points across the small garden. There's another suite just like mine. "That's my room."

He grins.

I wonder why someone who seems so well-adjusted is here in this place. Shouldn't he be pissed off like me? Or depressed like some of the others?

"Maybe you should go back," I tell him.

"Or maybe…" he starts, his voice thick and smooth like chocolate, "_maybe_ you should tell me why you're here."

"It's not obvious?"

His eyes narrow and look me over. It makes me uncomfortable – no, it makes me _too_ comfortable.

Seconds tic by slowly, and his gaze never wavers.

Neither does mine.

"The only thing that's clear to me," he says softly, "is the _obvious_ sexual tension between us."

"_Are you drunk_?" I hiss. I try to ignore that they way he said the word 'sexual' made me _feel _sexual for the first time since… No. I refuse to think about it. "Did they give you an extra serving of green tea tonight?"

His laugh fills the space between us. His hand runs through his hair that looks to soft and perfect to be real.

"Are you really going to tell me you don't feel it?" he asks. "That you didn't feel it this afternoon? That you're not feeling it right now?"

"I'm not feeling anything right now."

"You're lying."

He's right, but I will never admit it.

"Why are _you_ here?"

"You know," he says, smiling, "I've been asking myself the same question for a while. But I think I know the reason now."

It started off like a joke, like his words were supposed be amusing and funny. But now…now I call tell that's serious. Or at least he sounds serious.

"And what's the reason?" I ask, silently cursing my breathy voice.

"I think I am here because I was supposed to meet you."

He leans in closer.

He smells better than the jasmine.

"Fuck off."

"I'd rather fuck you."

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	4. Chapter 4

He's kissing me.

I don't know how it happened, really, except that one minute we were talking, and now he's kind of over me and it feels good. Also, his tongue is kind of in me, and that feels really good, too.

Really fucking good.

I'm assaulted by how amazing he tastes – like clean mint and fresh water. How he smells like cotton and Downy and man. I'm also clutching his t-shirt with fists that can't seem to grip tight enough. I'm actually pulling him to me, and I can't stop. Especially not when he slides his hand just under the waist of my pajamas. Or when his fingers brush the top of my ass just like that.

"Goddamn," he breathes.

It almost sounds like a compliment, except the fact that he's speaking means he's no longer kissing me. My lips seek out his, and he lets me find them. And now I'm just feeling this – feeling him. And for the first time in what seems like forever, I don't feel anything else.

I don't feel angry.

I'm not pissed off at the world because how can I be?

I spread my legs as far as the wooden chair allows me. He sinks in lower, closer.

He moans.

I do, too.

"We need to take this inside," he says. Warm puffs of his breath blow across my face. "We're not the only ones that share this garden."

And then reality tumbles down on me with the weight of all the stones in this garden. All of it – everything – hits me all at once.

I'm here – away from home, across the fucking country. I'm here because I couldn't cope. I can't…I can't cope. And not coping has made me so pissed off that I can't even do my job.

This is humiliating.

This is mortifying beyond description.

And now – on top of all that – I'm here with my legs spread, clinging to man that doesn't even know my name. I don't know his.

_Oh, god._

_Oh my fucking god!_

I'm not sure, but I'm almost positive that this is some sort of breakdown. This is just some tremendously expensive institution with rooms that feels like a hotel and a serenity garden instead of group therapy.

I push him off of me with a force that almost impresses me.

"What's the matter?" he asks. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing…everything. _Fuck_," I hiss. "You have to leave. I'm sorry…I'm sorry, but you have to go."

"Why?" he asks.

"Because we can't…_I _can't do this."

He holds his hands up. Almost like he's surrendering or something. Or like I'm a crazy person. The latter makes me feel even more sick and embarrassed.

"What's wrong?"

I'm laughing now.

Great.

Fucking great.

"You think I'm going to tell you what's wrong with me?" Yep, still laughing. "I haven't even told you my name!"

I briefly wonder how many breathing exercises it will take for me to calm down again.

"If it helps, my name is Edward," he says softly.

I turn to walk inside.

"It doesn't."

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	5. Chapter 5

I put on yoga pants after my shower this morning. Grey ones, selected from the seemingly endless supply in my closet. The grey fits my mood. The purple shirt matches the dark circles under my eyes.

I didn't sleep last night.

I stood inside with all the lights out, and I watched him from the window. I don't know how long he sat on his terrace. After a while, I gave up and went to bed.

I eat breakfast in my room. I have a choice between coffee and tea. I choose coffee for the caffeine and familiarity. I can only hope they drug it, too.

.

.

I spend the rest of the morning in the meditation room. I don't meditate. Mostly because I think that it's stupid, but also because I can't calm my mind. It runs away with me. It sees two images over and over again.

One: a man with dark hair and darker eyes.

Two: and man with hair like the sun and eyes like the green water of a hidden lagoon.

.

.

I take a walk after lunch in the Serenity Garden. I look at the flowers and plants. I tell myself that I'm not looking for him.

Apparently, I'm a liar.

It doesn't matter, though. He is nowhere to be found. He's probably hiding, or hitting on some other woman staying here. She's probably well-adjusted. She probably does the yoga and drinks the tea and smiles when he talks to her.

And she probably doesn't freak the fuck out when he kisses her.

_Damn, I hate that bitch._

I settle down on the grass in the sun. I lean back – I feel the earth on my back, I feel the sun on my face. It's nice, I suppose. All of this is very conducive to relaxing. I can see where a person would find it hard to be pissed off in this environment.

Buddha would be so fucking proud.

I'm nearly asleep when I feel his energy. It's warmer than the sun.

I open my eyes, holding my hands over them to block the direct glare. And he's there…sitting right beside me.

"Hi." There's no anger in my voice – not even a trace.

"I like it out here."

"It's nice," I agree.

He leans back on his elbows beside me. We stay just like this for a long time. We don't say anything. And even though I like it, even though I'm finding the silence comfortable, I find I miss his voice. _I like his voice_.

"Why are you here?" I ask quietly.

He turns over on his side, facing me, elbow in the grass, chin in his hand. I try to ignore the way his shirt slides up, exposing his stomach.

He notices my _not_ noticing.

"Because the garden is nice, and you're pretty."

I blush forever.

"No," I tell him, once I'm able to actually speak and not stutter. "Why are you _here_?"

"I'm here because I needed a break."

"From what?"

"Life."

I nod my head like I understand. And I guess a part of me does.

"Can I tell you something? A secret?"

His smile is small, but it makes me smile, too. And _that_ is big.

"I'm listening."

I close my eyes, breathing in for three seconds and then out for ten.

When I open my eyes, I lick my lips and swallow loudly.

He's watching.

"Kissing you last night was the best thing to happen to me in the last year."

I don't know why I'm being so honest, but then he laughs. And yeah, that sound – totally worth the truth.

"Just the last year?"

I grin.

"Maybe a little longer."

He reaches across and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I want you to tell me your name," he tells me. "Because I'm going to kiss you again. And I'd like to know it before I do."

There is no anger.

There is nothing, nothing else at all.

"My name is Bella."

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	6. Chapter 6

I shower, and I think about him.

The hot water and familiar soap runs over my body – my muscles that seem don't seem as tight and stiff as they were this morning – and I _still_ think about him.

And now, I'm back in my pajamas. I wonder if I should go back out on the terrace tonight, but I don't want Edward to think I'm waiting on him. And I definitely don't want him to think I expect him to come over.

Hope for it, maybe.

But I don't expect it.

Life is easier without expectations.

I can't decide, and it's making me tense. I don't want to let go of the first relaxing day I've had in far too long.

I should drink some green tea.

Before I can order some, there's a _tap-tap-tap_ on my door.

I'm excited.

I'm in pajamas, and I'm excited that a man is coming to see me. There is nothing normal about this. I didn't even bring pretty clothes or heels or any real makeup at all. And yet, for some reason, I feel like none of that matters.

I breathe and then open the door.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"I didn't know if you were going to come out tonight," he says.

"I didn't know if I should."

Lines form on his brow.

"No," I say quickly. "You misunderstand. I just…I didn't want you to feel pressured to come."

He smirks. "I wouldn't mind feeling _that_ pressure."

My face flames a million flames, and I step to the right, letting him inside.

We sit on the edge of my bed. I tell myself that we only sit there because we're already in the room – not because the extra twenty feet would be so far to walk.

"So," he says, "I see you got the standard room with subtle colors. Do they also pipe in soothing music at night while you're sleeping? Or did you go for the nightly affirmations?"

I can't help but giggle.

"I like that sound," he says. "I like it a lot, actually."

I fall back on the bed, scrubbing my face with my hands. I peek out at him through my fingers. He's still smiling. "You know what? I like that sound, too. It's been a long time since I just laughed for no fucking reason at all."

"Fuck not laughing for no reason."

"Yes," I say just a louder than I expect. "Fuck it right in the face!"

He scoots back, stretching out beside me, and I turn over on my side to face him. Silence settles around us while I look at him. And it's not altogether uncomfortable. I study his face, and he just lets me. I wonder if he's doing the same thing to me.

He has tiny lines just around his eyes. They look like laugh lines, but based on the fact that he is here, I wonder if they're from stress instead. And he has this stubble on his jaw that wasn't there earlier.

It's masculine.

It's sexy.

Without thinking or questioning, I reach out and stroke it. His eyes close, and warm, wet breath blows across my hand. I rub his jaw, telling myself that I'm fascinated by the texture, the soft and rough, the back and forth. I tell myself that it's calming…even though nothing about my body is calm.

And then his hand covers mine against his cheek.

He holds it there as his eyes open.

"I really want to kiss you again," he says. "Actually, I really want to do a lot more than kiss you, so I need you to tell me to stop. Because I don't want to walk away from you again tonight."

His fingers close around mine as my heart pounds in my chest.

"Tell me to stop, Bella."

"No," I breathe. "I don't want you to."

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	7. Chapter 7

I try not to think about how long it's been since I've been kissed like this. It's not that hard since I don't think I have _ever _been kissed like this.

Not once.

Not in my entire life.

His lips are so soft, so open and yielding. They give when I press my own against them. They come when I suck them inside. His mouth is wet and warm and tastes just as good as it did last night. But he kisses quick and tender – one, two, three times – and then he whispers my name. And all I can think is, _This, this…so much this. _

It's impossible, really, that something can be this good.

My mind races.

My heart flies.

And I'm pulling him over me, on top of me…just wordlessly begging, begging, begging him not to stop. Wanting so much for this feeling not to end.

I can't remember when I've felt this free, this light – even with the full weight of his body is pressed against me.

But he slows.

He stops.

He rolls us over until we are on our sides again, facing each other with panting breaths and blurry eyes.

"Is something wrong?" I ask. I don't really know what else to say.

He reaches across and touches my face.

I hadn't realized how much I craved the contact.

"Does it look like something's wrong?"

"No."

"Does it feel like something's wrong?"

"No."

"Then nothing is wrong."

We stay like this for a long time – not speaking – just touching each other with curious, exploring hands. Everything about him is soft and warm, especially the skin on his neck. I love the way presses his head against my hand, squeezing me. Almost like a cat who wants you to touch them, but they can't stand it because it feels too good.

"Why are you here?" he asks gently.

I don't mean to tense up, but I do.

I don't want to pull away, but it's a reflex. It's something I can't control.

"I don't want to talk about that."

The tone of my voice in final, but still he pushes.

"You can talk to me, you know?"

And for a split second, I think I can. I think I can tell him about everything that led me to this place. Like, it would just be so easy. I could just unburden myself. But my burdens are not his burdens. He clearly has his own baggage to carry.

"It's not that I don't want to tell you," I say, knowing it's mostly a lie. I don't want to lie, so I offer him a truth. "I'm afraid you'll think… I mean, what if you think I'm crazy?"

His laugh is loud and big and warm. And it melts the layer of ice that had begun to form again.

"You're not serious, right?"

I nod my head.

"I'm absolutely serious."

"Do you know how I know that you're not crazy?"

"How?" I ask. Like there's really a way for him to know.

"Because you're here," he says, motioning to the room around us. "Some ridiculously overpriced resort that just happens to offer yoga and meditation instead of cocktails and lounge chairs. If you were really crazy, I assure you that you wouldn't be here. You'd be somewhere with white walls instead of purple."

"Lavender," I correct him. I don't know why.

"Lavender," he repeats. He reached out and touches the exposed skin of my chest. "If you were really crazy, I wouldn't be allowed in your room, and I wouldn't be able to touch you like this."

He finds my pulse with his index and middle fingers. He presses against it, and I can feel my heartbeat.

"Are you crazy?" he whispers.

"No."

"Are you nervous?"

"A little."

He pulls me against him and rolls us back over. My legs straddle his waist, his hands slide just under my t-shirt. I press my hands next to his head and lean in to kiss him, but before my mouth covers his, he murmurs, "I can work with nervous. And anything else you might be hiding."

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	8. Chapter 8

It's hard to meditate when you mostly think it's stupid. It's even harder to meditate when a gorgeous man – the same man you made out with the entire night before until you both fell asleep – is trying to distract you. And he's doing a damn fine job.

I sit here in the lotus position. Which to be honest, I'm probably doing wrong. But he is right beside me with fingers touching me everywhere – my crossed legs, the small of my back my open palms. And he's whispering things about open minds and open legs and which of the two he prefers.

I glare at him from the side, and he looks contrite for all of three seconds. He assumes the same position I'm in and closes his eyes. But then he licks his lips before biting down on the bottom one and pulling it into his mouth. And you know what? _Fuck meditation_. Because now I'm blatantly staring at him until he smiles, as if he knows exactly what I'm doing.

I can't help the giggle that escapes me. Two women in front of me turn around, and now I am the one being glared at, while Edward looks calm and composed and absolutely goddamn serene. I offer them an apologetic smile before closing my eyes. And after a few moments of silence, I elbow him as hard as I can in the ribs.

.

.

When we walk out of the meditation room, he grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall on the right.

"I don't think violence is necessary, Ms. Swan," he says, pulling me against him.

"Well, I think you are like the bad kid who sits in the back of the classroom and causes trouble."

"I only sat where _you_ were sitting," he says, dipping his head to my neck and sucking my skin with his very open and very wet mouth. "Maybe you are the bad kid in the back of the class causing trouble."

I can't even think.

"Maybe…maybe I am."

"I think you are," he continues, breathing in my ear before biting down on my lobe. "I think you are exactly that girl….the bad girl. I'm pretty sure you bruised me."

His hands slide down my back and settle on my ass.

"I'm pretty sure you deserved it."

"I'm pretty sure you have a problem with anger management."

His words are playful and teasing, but as soon as he says it, my body stills, and every muscle tenses. I pull back to find his confused expression, and even though I don't want to hurt him, I pull out of his arms and put some distance between us.

"You're right," I say, my voice tense. "I umm…I think I need to be alone for a while."

I turn on my heel and head down the hall because I don't want to do this – I don't want to have this conversation with him here and now. I don't know when or if I do want to have this conversation.

"Bella, wait," he says, running up behind me and grabbing my hand. "I…I was just kidding."

"Yeah, well, you were right on fucking target."

I take my hand away from his and leave him there in the hallway. He doesn't follow me, and I'm equally relieved and sad about that. I go back to my suite with the beige and lavender walls and the bed that I slept with him in the night before. I can't look at it, I can't think about it.

I sit on the couch and I close my eyes. This time, I actually try to focus on finding my center, the peace and calm that I lost not so very long ago.

And still, my mind only sees two images.

The same two men – both of them stand in direct opposition of each other.

The one who I pushed away.

And the one who did the same thing to me.

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	9. Chapter 9

I don't see or hear from Edward for the rest of the day. And it's probably for the best. I don't walk in the Serenity Garden, I don't attempt yoga, I don't go back to the meditation room.

I wallow in self-loathing until I can barely stand just the idea of myself.

I wonder when I became this…this person.

I know _how_ I became this person, but what I don't know – what I can't understand – is how I allowed it.

_Have I always been this way?_

There are no answers in the soothing colors that surround me. So, I look inside myself for just a bit. I roll my eyes. I've never been one to embrace self-realization. Analyzing your heart and mind and soul isn't exactly a picnic. Especially when you're not really a nice person.

But even that's not really true.

I feel like I am a nice person…a good person.

I have never deliberately hurt another person in my life.

Flashes of Tyler Crowley holding his bleeding nose, and the bruise on Lauren Mallory's cheek assault my mind. I even remember the way Edward held his ribs after I elbowed him.

Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. Maybe I'm not the nicest person in the world.

But all of them deserved what they got, right?

Well, except Edward. He probably didn't deserve what I did to him. No, he definitely didn't. He was making me laugh. He was making me smile and feel genuinely happy for the first time in what feels like forever.

_God, I'm so fucking stupid._

Before I can think about what I'm doing, I'm on my feet and running toward the door that leads to the terrace. The sun has set, and the jasmine smells lovely. But none of that matters while I can see his door. And more importantly, I can see that the light is on in his room.

Thirty-seven steps.

I run them all…every single one.

I stand on his terrace, out of breath and probably looking like an idiot. But that's okay, because I feel like an idiot.

I knock. Well, I bang three times. It's loud and jarring, even to me. There is nothing serene about the sound, yet amazingly, I feel this rush of peace I haven't felt in…

Fuck, I don't know that I've ever felt this.

I wait.

_Please, answer the door._

_Please, please, please answer the door._

And then he does. He just stands there in green and blue plaid drawstring pants. They hang low on his hips, and I can't stop staring. It would be embarrassing except that it's not – except that I don't give a fuck about anything other than the fact that he's here.

I look at his face and notice that his hair is messy and crazy and perfect. And he's wearing glasses, which is just beyond hot.

_Seriously, how is that so hot?_

I almost forget why I'm here.

Almost…

"I'm a bitch," I blurt out.

"Bella, you're not a bitch," he says.

I expect him to be irritated, or at least perplexed by my erratic behavior. But he's smiling.

"No, really…I am," I continue. I have to say this now or I'll never have the nerve to say it. "I'm not really a nice person. I mean, I am, but not always. And you were right. I do have problems with anger. I'm angry. It's why I came here. Apparently, I'm like the female version of Lewis Black. I snap at people. People don't want to work with me. But the thing is – I don't want to _be_ angry anymore."

I take a deep breath, and he looks at me for the longest time. So long, in fact, that I'm certain he really _does_ think I'm crazy. I look down at me feet as they shuffle from side to side.

"Bella?" he says, and my eyes shoot up to meet his. "What do you want?"

I don't even breathe. I just say the words, "I want to feel the way I feel whenever I'm with you."

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	10. Chapter 10

I've never gotten naked this fast before. I don't know if it's the same for Edward – the only thing I know is that both yoga and drawstring pants come off easy.

Really fucking easy.

I'm probably coming off as a little easy right now, but all the reasons I had to care about that have fallen somewhere in the garden between my room and his.

And then I see his cock. _Jesus_, I'm pretty sure I'm never caring about anything else for the rest of my goddamn life.

It's gorgeous…just like him. Long and thick and smooth and so fucking hard. I want to touch it, but I'm too busy falling backwards as he pushes me down on his bed.

He kneels between my legs, looking down at me with his glasses still on. I kinda hope he keeps them on while he fucks me.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks, his hands running up my belly and the squeezing my tits.

It's nice that he's pretending to be concerned. Meanwhile, I'm moaning because his hands are on my naked skin, and it's the best thing I've ever felt.

"Do I look like I'm conflicted?"

He bends over me and kisses me on the lips – deep and wet with his tongue stroking in and out in this perfect, slow fucking motion. And then he moves to my neck, licking a long, wet trail before whispering in my ear, "You look fucking hot."

I'm pretty sure the sheets on his bed are wet now. Again, I would find this all really embarrassing, but I can't. I'm wet because he's fucking amazing. And _he's_ the one who's hot, and also naked and over me like a Zen god.

"I've wanted you since the first day I saw you in the garden," he says. "I just saw you there…and there was something about you. I just…I wanted you. I want you."

"I want you, too."

His hands slide down my sides, over my legs, and in between them.

"How are you this wet?" he moans, spreading me open and looking at me. His fingers slide through the lips of my pussy, touching me, rubbing me. "You're so fucking ready."

Two fingers push just inside. He looks at me, and I'm breathless. I feel like I can't breathe at all or ever again as long as he's doing this. And then he just fucks into me slowly – in and out, in and out.

"What do you feel right now?" he asks, but I can't speak. "Tell me, baby. What do you feel right now?"

He pushes his fingers in as deep as they will go, and I cry out, I scream really. It's the only answer I can give him until, "Please," I whimper. "Please…please."

"What?"

I pull him down to me. My mouth finds the hot skin on his neck just beneath his ear. I lick and suck with graceless need – wanting him – just fucking needing him so much. He groans, his fingers fucking me harder…faster. His thumb is rubbing my clit. And all of it's so much, it's too much…until I come apart, crying out, "Fuck me."

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	11. Chapter 11

It's dark except for the soft light coming in from moon, and his room smells like sex mixed with rosemary and eucalyptus. The smell of sex is far more relaxing than the fragrance that's supposed to be soothing.

My head is on his naked chest, and his arms are wrapped around me while his fingers gently scratch my back. I lift my head so I can softly kiss his neck. I love the way he moans. I love the way he pulls me closer even more.

"That was…" he breathes out.

"Fucking amazing," I finish. "I'm pretty sure I can find my center now."

He laughs quietly. I feel the movement of his chest against my cheek.

"I'm pretty sure I already found your center."

And now I'm the one laughing. "Yeah? And how was that?"

"Warm and wet," he breathes. "And not angry at all."

We don't say anything for a while. I know we need to talk – _to really talk_ – but I don't want to let go of this moment just yet. He seems to feel the same way, so I spend the next several minutes touching him all over.

"I dated…well, I more than dated someone for a long time," I start. It didn't really work out in the sense that…" I blow out a long breath, and he hugs me closer, tighter.

"You don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," he tells me, but I shake my head.

"No, I do. Not just because I feel like I should tell you, but because I need to just talk about it. I haven't ever really openly talked about it ever."

"Okay."

"I was always the successful one. And I don't say that to sound conceited or arrogant in any way. I swear, I don't. But I was always good at my job. I loved it…I did it well. And he was an artist – starving or whatever," I mumble. I feel myself starting to get tense, and I just don't want to go there. I don't want to do that anymore. I force myself to continue. "Well, I guess he would have been starving if it wasn't for me. Because I supported us. Both of us. And it wasn't like it was this great sacrifice or anything because…I don't know…because I would have been working anyway. And I just wanted him to be happy doing what he loved to do.

"And then one day, it seemed like everything was falling into place. A gallery picked him up – offered to do a show featuring his work. I was so happy for him…so happy for us, really. And his show was a really big success. I knew it would be. He was really talented. And then…"

I stop because I don't know if I can say the words out loud.

I force myself.

"And then, one day I came home and all of his stuff was packed. And he just told me that he was moving out. That he'd felt like we weren't going anywhere for a long time, and he needed to move on. You know, now that he could afford to live on his own. Now that he was successful, too."

Edward's arms wrap around me tight…so tight I should feel constricted, but I don't. I'm still breathing. I'm still okay, and saying the words out loud didn't make it worse.

"Goddamn, what an asshole."

And his words are perfect. I almost smile.

"I know, right?"

"You know that it's okay to be angry about that, don't you?"

"Yeah. I guess." I nod. "But it's not okay to be so angry that I basically spend an entire year being pissed at the universe. It's not okay to let something affect me so much that it affects every aspect of my life."

"And that's why you're here?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "Well, technically, my company made me come. They basically told me I needed to get a grip. So, they sent me here."

"Wow," he says. "You must be kind of important."

I grin, wondering why I hadn't ever thought about it like that.

"I told you I was good at my job," I tease. "I'm practically a genius."

I laugh, and it feels so fucking good.

"That's good," he tells me, tilting my face up to his. He kisses me softly, licking and sucking my lips. "Because I'm highly attracted to really intelligent women."

"Oh, really?" I giggle.

"Really," he says, kissing me one more time. "Especially the ones who come to my room at night and take their clothes off."

I push him back and crawl on top of him. I look down at him – all naked and perfect and smelling like both of us. I've only known him for a few days, but I know that no one has ever looked at me like this before.

"And what are your feelings about the ones who come to your room, take off all their clothes, and want to stay until the morning?"

I feel his cock grow hard beneath me. I only grind against him a little.

"Honestly?" he says, gasping as I slide against him.

"Honestly."

I kiss him.

"They're my favorite."

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	12. Chapter 12

"That feels good," Edward murmurs.

The sound of his groan is muffled as he buries his face into the pillow. Tiny little dust particles fill the ray of afternoon sunlight shining through the window.

He's on his stomach beneath me as I rub his back. Mostly, I'm kissing his bare skin, and grinding myself against his naked ass. But occasionally – like right now – I dig both of my palms into the thick muscles between his shoulder blades.

"What about that?" I ask him.

"Oh, god. So fucking good."

I lean over, my hands on his shoulders. His body supports my weight…in so many more ways than this. I lick his neck – long, wet laps over sweat-salted skin – until I find the place. The place I know he loves. And when I suck him the way I'm sucking him right now, he completely comes undone.

Fists gripping sheets beside us.

The slick skin of my pussy spread open and rubbing against him.

My name on his lips, as he pants and grunts and makes me feel like the sexiest woman in the world.

He rolls over, hot and hard and ready for me. I take him inside, and it's more of the same. Five days of the same, and somehow it always feels different. Every single time with him is better and better.

He looks at me when we fuck.

It's intense how he never looks away.

There's this connection I've never felt – this intimacy – and not just because he's so fucking deep inside me. And I know he feels it, too…whatever this is.

It scares me, but I'm not running.

Hell, it terrifies me, but I could never ever stop.

.

.

We lie breathless, connected…in every possible way. Legs tangled, fingers twined, and chests pressed and pounding together. I can't stop looking at him, especially his eyes.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, bringing our joined hands between us.

"Nothing," I sigh. "A million things."

"Give me one."

I pause, unsure if I should say the words…ask the question. But I decide that I have to.

"Why are you here?"

I kiss his cheeks, his lips – just willing him to say the words. I want him to know that whatever the real reason is, I will understand the same way he has understood.

"I already told you. I needed a break."

I think back to the first night, his words coming back to me.

"A break from what?"

"From life, from work…from everything."

He releases my hands, only to slide them over my hips and thighs, pulling me even closer. My own hands go to his face. I cup his cheeks, my thumbs brushing against the grain of his stubble.

I try to read his eyes, but even though they hide nothing, they give nothing away at the same time.

"Does everything include someone else?" I don't want to ask it, but I feel like I have to.

"Do you think I could be here with you if there was?" He doesn't look upset.

"No," I tell him. "I don't. But I had to ask, you know?"

He nods his head, and then presses it against my chest.

"I have worked for nearly five years without a vacation," he starts. I run my fingers through his hair, hoping to relax him. "Five years with no real life…only a job."

"That sounds…awful."

"I didn't notice at first, you know. I just got caught up in being successful and then one day, I realized I had no one to share my success with. Just an empty apartment. Hell, I don't even have a pet." He chuckles softly. "I remember sitting in my office late one night. I didn't even have the motivation to go home. The couch in my office was actually more inviting than my own empty bed. And that's when I knew I needed to take a break. I needed to reevaluate my life and my decisions."

"So you ended up here?"

"Yeah," he nods, finally pulling back to look at me. "I was here for just over a week. And one afternoon, I decided to take a walk. And then I saw this beautiful woman. And I didn't know why, but I had to talk to her. So, I did."

I swallow loudly.

"And then what happened?"

"She ignored me, of course…and then she ran away."

I feel like I should laugh because he's smiling, but nothing about this feels funny at all.

"So, what did you do then?"

His fingers trace my lips. I lick them a little.

"I tried again…and again…and again."

"Did she finally give in?" I ask.

His smile is so wide it's blinding.

"Fuck yeah, she did. In a really spectacular fashion."

"Spectacular, huh?"

"Yeah, spectacular and naked."

I kiss him hard and deep until I have to pull away because there's no air left in my lungs.

"I meant what I said on the first night," he tells me. "I have no doubt that I came here because I was supposed to meet you."

I let him pull me up as he steadies himself behind me. And I welcome him as he slides inside. I want him more than I've ever wanted anything, but for the first time, I'm happy he can't see my face while he fucks me. Because he would only find a question – one single fucking question.

_What's going to happen when we leave?_

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	13. Chapter 13

The last two days have been quiet. We've spent literally every moment enjoying each other. But tomorrow morning both of us are leaving. And the weight of that hangs over me, over him, over both of us together.

Tonight, as I press up against him for the last time, words form on the tip of my tongue, but they fail me. And I guess in that respect, I fail myself. But I knew going into this – whatever this is – that it couldn't last forever. I tell myself that meeting him has been wonderful, being here with him in this quiet, little sanctuary has absolutely changed my life.

I am not the same angry woman I was just a few weeks ago.

I have learned to let go.

And now…now I just have to do the same with him.

He rubs my back. His fingers play with the ends of my hair. His sweet breath washes over me, and for a moment, I close my eyes and pretend that it can always be this way.

And then he whispers, "You're so quiet tonight."

"You are, too."

"What are you thinking about?"

I bury my face in his chest, my fingers slide down the light dusting of hair on his stomach. The fact that I feel him tremble and clench beneath my hand makes me smile.

I affect him.

The same way he has affected me.

"The same thing you're thinking about."

"You know I'm going to miss you, right?"

I nod my head. I can't look at him right now.

"I'm going to miss you, too."

Suddenly, he sits up, almost knocking me out of the way.

"Where is your phone?"

"What?"

"Where is your phone?" he asks, his expression and voice more animated than they've been in two days. "I want you to give me your phone."

I open the drawer in the nightstand, pull it out and hand it to him.

"What are you doing?"

He smiles.

"Programming my number in your contacts. That way you can call me anytime you want to. And I'm calling myself right now, so that I have your number, too."

I grin as he hands the phone back to me, and then I place it back in the drawer.

"This is not a death sentence, Bella," he says. "We will see each other again. It might not be every day, but I don't live on another planet."

I shake my head. "Or even another country."

"Exactly," he says, pulling me back into his arms. "I don't want to spend my last night here with you being sad."

I settle onto his lap, facing him. His hands make their way down my chest, my breasts. I have to bite back the groan inside my throat.

"What do you want to spend it doing?"

"I want to spend it under you just like this," he breathes just before he kisses me. "Behind you...over you…fucking inside you."

I press up on my knees, kissing him wetly. My hand finds his cock, so hard and hot and ready for me. And I whimper as I take him inside.

"Just…oh god, Edward…just fuck me."

.

.

My body is deliciously sore as the sun coming through the window wakes me up.

I stretch.

I reach for him.

But when I open my eyes, he's already gone.

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	14. Chapter 14

I don't have time to be upset that he's gone, because in his place, I find a folded piece of white linen stationery from the resort.

_Bella,_

_I couldn't handle another goodbye. I hope you'll forgive me._

_I want to remember you exactly as you are now – perfect and naked and smiling in your sleep._

_I hope I've given you an ounce of the happiness you've given me._

_I meant what I said. Goodbye is not forever._

_Call me when you get home tonight._

_Yours,_

_Edward_

.

.

The airport is always ridiculous.

Always.

After getting through security, I find myself sitting in the first class lounge. I suppose that I really am a valuable asset to the company. Three paid weeks away that changed my life and flying first class roundtrip.

I make a mental note to thank asshole number one and two.

I make another mental note to stop calling them asshole number one and two.

I pull the note Edward left me out of my purse. I read it twenty times and try – unsuccessfully – not to cry.

Sadness is better than anger.

I don't even need to meditate to figure that out.

I think about the short amount of time that I've just spent with him. And as much as I hated the last year of my life, I know that I would never have met him if I hadn't gone through the entire terrible year.

_Everything happens for a reason._

I roll my eyes.

Maybe I should start doing yoga.

A little while later they start boarding first class seats. I collect my things and board the plane. I'm sitting three rows back, and I'm thankful I have a window seat. I settle in and order a drink. I choose hot green tea instead of a cocktail. It seems appropriate.

By the time I finish my tea, they are almost finished boarding coach. I want to read his note again, but I decide to close my eyes instead. The flight to New York is six hours, and I know that I'll be jet-lagged.

I must doze off at some point because I'm dreaming of him. Not so much of him, but rather the energy I feel when I'm with him. It covers me all over just like always. I feel it all over my skin…everywhere.

I swear to god, I even hear his voice.

Velvet and fucking sunshine.

Saying my name – just my name – over and over again.

My eyes open when I feel his touch. I want to be pissed that I've woken up from my dream, but then I see him. And maybe I'm still dreaming after all.

He's here…standing right in front of me.

"Is this seat taken?"

"What?"

He grins, and my dream is feeling a lot like reality. But I don't know how the fuck that's possible. I mean, it _can't_ be possible.

_Can it?_

His laugh is warm and familiar. And it's real. It's definitely, definitely fucking real.

"I asked you if this seat was taken." He grins.

"Am I dreaming?" I ask. "Because I swear to god, if I'm dreaming, I'm gonna be really fucking pissed."

He sits down in the seat right next to mine. He takes my hand, he holds it, and our fingers twist together.

"I'm pretty sure you just spent the last three weeks learning how to control your anger," he says, bringing my hand up to his lips. "I don't think getting pissed is the right way to go in this situation."

"_What are you…how did you_…" My voice is about three octaves higher than normal.

"Breathe, Bella."

Tears fill my eyes. I can't even help it.

"How did you even get here?"

His free hand reaches out to brush away my tears.

"Well, I bought a ticket home a couple weeks ago," he says. "And this was the flight they put me on."

"Wait. What? You...you live in New York?"

I can't begin to wrap my mind around this.

"Well, not Manhattan proper," he says, "but Brooklyn's pretty fucking close."

I kiss him because I have to, because none of this can be real. Even though it is, even though I'm holding him and touching him…and it really fucking is.

"I can't believe you're here with me," I say through my stupid tears that won't stop falling. "I don't even know how any of this is possible."

"I told you, Bella," he says, kissing me softly one more time. "Everything happens for a reason."

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